Chapter 21
They docked with no issue, and Moss assured Torian as she disembarked, “I will not allow anyone else access. Do not die.”
Torian balked, halfway out of the starship. “What? Why would I die?”
“I will do my very best not to die,” Torian drawled, and left. The starship cargo doors closed behind her, which was good, because the Destitute was drawing another crowd in this public hangar. The sooner she collected Celise and left, the better.
Until then, she’d have to trust Moss to protect the ship.
After Colony 4, this place felt downright welcoming.
(No obsessive holidays, for one, although Torian did feel like she should put in a request to honor Starship Day.) The dock she’d secured was on a different level than Celise’s clinic, so she had to take the tram to the center column, and then ride the lift up a few floors.
As she floated in the central lift, more people boarded, then began disembarking on the residential rings.
Torian followed a mother and two children out when they reached her level. The mother coaxed her children onto the tram, and Torian made space for them as they all secured into harnessed seats.
One of the kids squinted at her, and she waggled a few fingers. The kid giggled, and Torian smiled in response. The mother whispered intensely to the child, and she averted her gaze.
Learning young to be closed off, careful of strangers. Torian hated that it was necessary, but she couldn’t argue the safety measures. She offered an apologetic smile to the mother and averted her gaze.
It was a short ride to proper gravity on the outer ring, and Torian stretched as she disembarked the tram.
Colony 13’s residential rings had a high ceiling with apartments stacked almost shanty-like on a main strip, and an attempt at greenery in the center.
Her family hadn’t been able to afford that view, so Celise’s clinic was built in their old apartment—which was down several narrow hallways.
Now, when she passed folks, she wasn’t just on guard for her belongings.
She was scrutinizing them, wondering who was colony-born …
and who was Rhymarran. There was always somewhere to huddle away on these space stations, and she passed a few lived-in sections occupied by people who couldn’t afford apartments.
That had been a fact of life growing up, but now, she couldn’t unsee Amelia’s sad little tent.
Even that was downright luxurious compared to this.
Torian set her jaw, shoving her hands in her pockets.
She wanted to help, but it was dangerous to offer on Colony 13—even Celise kept to her clinic instead of roaming the halls.
She skirted a group of clearly drunk folks, one of whom was staring hungrily at her.
Torian glared back, moving at a brisk pace.
They didn’t follow, and she counted it as a blessing.
But it wasn’t all bad. Amidst dodging the locals, she saw hints of families making a life here—drawings scribbled on the metal walls, a child’s toy left discarded, the laughter of folks through thin front doors.
Despite the environment, there was hope here.
Torian was proud to represent that.
She finally reached their old apartment, now advertised with metal lettering that simply read “clinic.” An open/closed sign that hung from a bolt by the door had been flipped to Closed.
An overgrown orange zinnia was in a metal pot beside the door—her sister’s pride and joy.
It wasn’t flowering yet, but tiny buds were attempting to sprout.
This place was home, and Torian felt a sudden sense of sadness. Once she collected Celise and they moved to Vaesa, there would be nothing to tie her to Colony 13. To the memories of her parents, their childhood, their future aspirations.
But it was their last option. She’d rather pour a drink with Celise and reminisce over their old home than watch her sister’s ashes floating past the airlock, vanishing into space.
Drawing a fortifying breath, Torian rapped on the door.
“I’m closed,” Celise called through the thin door—and then dissolved into a round of coughing.
Shit.
“It’s me, Lise. Open up.”
A pause, where she was clearly attempting to get the coughing under control. Torian held her breath, heart pounding. Would this really get better with cleaner air … or was Celise just destined to struggle until a coughing fit killed her someday?
Torian couldn’t handle that thought. Vaesa had to work.
The door opened, and Celise leaned against the doorway, one eyebrow raised. “Well, well. My sister, the starbound pilot.” Her voice was hoarse, dripping in sarcasm. “Your timing is—” A cough, an attempt to clear her throat. “—is impeccable, as always.”
Torian snorted. “Well, you know. That’s my specialty.” She hugged Celise, but not so tight as to restrict breathing. Her sister always had a comforting scent that Torian couldn’t describe, but she inhaled deeply and felt her nerves settle.
Celise pulled away first, locking the door as Torian ventured into the apartment.
The living room had been transitioned into her clinic years ago, with a cot along one wall, some medical equipment scattered about, and a desk where she reviewed records.
The kitchen was in an adjacent room, and Celise waved her into it.
“Surprised to see you back so soon,” Celise said. “I thought the exams took a month or more.”
There was weight to her tone. Disappointment … but also relief. They both knew what it meant that Torian was standing in this room.
Failure.
Torian ignored the subtext. “Oh, I just couldn’t stay away.” She offered a teasing grin, to which Celise rolled her eyes. When Celise stayed silent, still waiting for more, Torian diverted. “Everything okay while I was gone? Business is good?”
Are you good? was what she wanted to ask, but didn’t dare. Not yet.
“Well, no one visits a clinic when they’re feeling fine.
But it’s been somewhat steady.” Celise took a seat at the tiny table, rubbing her fingers over the spot where Torian had slammed a fork onto the metal and dinged it as a child.
She drew a slow breath, coughed a bit, and made a face.
“Sorry. Inhaler is hit or miss this week. I had some minor injuries, a few illnesses. One kid ran straight into a wall while playing and needed stitches.”
Torian poured herself a glass of water, leaning against the nearby countertop. “Shit. Was he okay?”
“Yeah. Kids bounce back.” Celise leaned back in her chair, quirking one eyebrow. “Cut the shit, Torian. Did you make it to Rhymarra, or did your alien starship break down halfway there?”
“No, no. It broke down halfway back.” Torian paused. “Well, and halfway there.”
Celise stared, deadpan. “I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”
“I’m not. But it’s fine now. We fixed it.” Torian drew a slow breath, then took a sip of water to prepare herself for the next sentence. “I got to Rhymarra. Spoke with Headmaster Nuun.”
“And?” Celise’s tone was cautious now.
“He told me I was ‘too old’ to test.”
It filled the space between them.
Celise coughed, then remarked, “Well. That’s that.”
It was incredible, how fast she was willing to let her own life slip away. No one should just shrug and accept their fate—not like that. If Celise didn’t want to fight for herself, then Torian would fight doubly hard.
And fuck her sister for thinking otherwise.
“Lucky for you, I found a backup plan.” Smug enthusiasm slid through Torian, and she pushed off the cabinets, setting down her water glass. “Lise, that ship I bought? It’s really special. The moss inside isn’t just a plant overgrowth. It’s the life support system.”
To her credit, Celise had known Torian all her life—and thus knew how to roll with her topic changes. She crossed her arms, ever the skeptic. “Moss. As life support.”
“Moss produces more oxygen than—”
“I’m aware,” Celise replied. “You seem to forget that when I’m not helping our neighbors, I’m researching this.
” She gestured at her chest, at the inhaler left abandoned on the counter behind Torian.
“I’ve looked into plants we could grow on the station, organic ways to replicate the atmosphere on Rhymarra.
The fact is, to accommodate a population like this, we’d need—”
“—more space than Colony 13 physically has,” Torian finished.
Celise snapped her fingers to agree to the point.
Torian’s ego was inflating by the second. It’d be unbearable, soon. “That’s typically true. Unless the moss is modified, and its oxygen output is controlled by a central computer. An alien computer.”
For a brief moment, Celise’s temperament shifted.
Curiosity replaced skepticism in her posture, like she couldn’t believe something so fortunate.
And then, just as fast, Torian watched it flicker and die.
An endless cycle of hope and defeat so deeply embedded, Celise couldn’t fight it even if she wanted to.
Celise’s tone was dry and brittle when she finally spoke: “Your starship has an alien computer made of moss.”
“Clean air, Lise. In space. Docked in a hangar two levels down.” Torian held her gaze, hoping to convey the truth.
This is real.
“We don’t know that clean air will fix this now. Even the oxygen tanks I can afford aren’t working much lately.”
“The oxygen tanks we can afford aren’t from Rhymarra—they’re from offshoot supply stations that can’t replicate pure air as well.” Torian narrowed her eyes. “When I bought that one tank straight from Rhymarra, it worked. You were fine.”
Until it ran out, anyway.
Torian had weighed her choices, contemplating investing all her savings not in a ship, but in air tanks. But they were an obscenely expensive, depleting resource—a ship had seemed like a more attainable, long-term solution.
And damn it, it would be.
“That was years ago.” Celise pressed her lips together, her voice hoarse. “Maybe I’m too far gone.”